Defender (Seattle Sharks 9)

“Yeah.” She nodded, then busied herself with my helmet, but I could tell she was still distracted, no doubt thinking over what she’d just revealed about herself.

Her braid slid over her lab coat, the rich mahogany color contrasting against the white material in a way that made me smile because it was just so her. It had probably started all neat and expertly done—it always did—but now it was coming undone, no doubt from how often she had to flip it back over her shoulder. It softened her, this incredibly brilliant woman who couldn’t have cared less that I thought her hair was beautiful, that I’d often had to stop myself from running my hands through it.

I’d never spent so much time around a woman I wasn’t sleeping with before. It was almost more intimate in a way. I knew that she rolled the toothpaste, that her walking around our shared hotel rooms in a towel wasn’t to drive me crazy, but rather because she couldn’t stand putting clothes on over damp skin and needed to feel fully dry before dressing. I knew she preferred breakfast smoothies to actual breakfast.

It had been a month since her birthday. A month of traveling with her every other week, of sitting next to her on early morning plane rides and climbing into beds separated by a nightstand and a lot of fucking willpower. I knew she was open as hell when it came to whatever she was working on. She loved to tell me what was turning the gears in her head. I also knew that she was closed off when it came to anything personal, and I didn’t think it was because she was guarded, but rather because she just didn’t find it as interesting.

“What is your family like?” she asked, her eyes flickering to mine as she started on another sensor.

It was the first time she’d ever asked me anything that didn’t revolve around hockey or smoothies.

“Loud,” I answered honestly. “My dad is a mechanic, a really damn good one, and my mom is a nurse. We grew up middle class, and always had whatever we needed. Maybe not everything we wanted, but that was good for us. It taught us to work for what we wanted. My brothers…” I trailed off as Nicholas came to mind.

“Why hockey?” she asked as if she’d noted my distress.

“What do you mean?” I stood and leaned against the table she was working at, bracing my hands on the smooth metal surface.

“Well, your brothers both play—played,” she whispered, “football. So why hockey for you?”

“I never really got into football, I guess,” I answered, watching her hands move gracefully on the next sensor. Her fingers were tiny, and yet incredibly powerful with all that she could accomplish with them. “It seemed like a lot of line-up and wait. Hockey never stops. Sure, we have time outs, or offsides, and whistles, but the game is fast. The puck can change possession a dozen times in a minute. Football made me feel like there was no chance of winning once you were behind, and I know that’s not true, but in hockey, you can be down five in the last period and come back. It felt like the underdog’s game.”

The corners of her mouth quirked into a smile.

“What?”

“I just figured that it was because you wanted to be different from your brothers, but then you had to get all philosophical on me.” She looked up at me, her eyes more green than hazel in this lighting, and I couldn’t help but smile right back.

“Yeah, there might have been some of that, too. Growing up super close with those two, it was a way to distinguish myself. They’re both…or I guess just Nixon is...” I shook my head.

“I understand,” she whispered. “It has to be hard to change the way you talk about him—Nicholas.”

I nodded, my throat tightening. “It can be. I mean, it’s been seven years, but in some ways I feel like we’re all still adapting to the new norm. Nixon and I were both at college when it happened, so it hurts most when I go home and he’s…” I swallowed, trying to dislodge the damn lump that appeared whenever I thought about Nicholas and his laughing eyes.

“But you and Nixon are still close?” she asked, moving the last sensor.

“Yeah, of course. We’re twins. All three of us were close, of course, there were only two years between us and Nicholas—but Nixon is a part of me. When I got a full ride at Minnesota for hockey, and he got into Notre Dame on a full ride for football, he declined and took the full ride Minnesota offered because I was there.” Looking back on how everything had gone down, I was incredibly grateful he’d made that choice, that we’d been together when we’d needed to.